


Thy Faithful, Degenerate Son

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [93]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:57:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the events of the episodes Touched and End of Days.  I wrote this one last August.  Not this past August.  LAST August.  Everything we’ve written since has been working towards this moment.  In which many, many threads finally come together . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thy Faithful, Degenerate Son

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published October 31, 2005
> 
> Set during the events of the episodes Touched and End of Days. I wrote this one last August. Not this past August. LAST August. Everything we’ve written since has been working towards this moment. In which many, many threads finally come together . . .

The entire house looked like a trauma ward.

Everywhere Joyce looked, a girl was bleeding, crying out in pain. The ones who had remained behind were doing their best to help the wounded, but it seemed so overwhelming.

She handed Willow the oversized first aid kit she had gotten from Buffy’s room, trying not to envision Buffy like this, mortally wounded, dying. This carnage was all her worst nightmares of the last five years realized and multiplied.

The door burst open as Xander and Rupert came in from the car the girls had found near the blast site and commandeered, carrying the worst victim with them. It was Faith, her strong body broken and limp, her head lolling to one side. “Mind her head,” Rupert admonished Xander as they started up the stairs.

“Take her to Buffy’s room,” Joyce said tersely. “Let me get . . .”

Buffy was standing in the doorway.

Her face was calm, resolved, so different from the devastated look she had worn the night before when she had been ordered from the house. Joyce’s breath caught in her throat. For the first time she could see the essence of what Buffy was, the Slayer in all her power. Focused, determined, prepared. And incredibly well armed. Joyce barely registered the specialized axe in her daughter’s hand, though, as she went to her, enfolding her in a mother’s embrace. “Oh, Buffy, thank God you’re alright!”

Buffy hesitated before hugging her back with her free arm. “I’m fine, Mom. But this has to wait. We’ve got one more person to save.”

“Okay, bring her in. I just need to check on Faith and then . . .”

“Forget about Faith.” Buffy’s grip on her arm was strong. “We have to save Ethan.”

Joyce’s face hardened. “Ethan is where he chose to be. I’m surprised you . . .”

“Mom! We don’t have time for this! We have to get him now before it’s too late.”

“Too late?” That stopped her.

“He said you had a way to reach him, that he’d given you a special way to summon him if you needed him.”

“I don’t remember.” She’d spent the last three months trying to forget everything about him.

Buffy shook her. “You have to! Come on, Mom, think!”

And suddenly she did remember. “Wait.” Buffy let go of her as Joyce turned to dash up the stairs and race down the hall to her room. She yanked the small top drawer out of her dresser and dumped the contents onto the bed, regretting it instantly as all her jewelry became indistinct against the busy pattern of the comforter. She clawed through chains and bangles and studs until finally her fingers closed around the short length of stainless steel chain with a quartz cluster on one end. With a victory cry, she ran back.

Rupert met her on the landing. “What’s going on?”

“Buffy says we need to save Ethan.” She didn’t slow her pace as she descended the stairs to where Buffy was waiting.

“Ethan’s not in any danger,” Rupert protested, following her down. “Certainly not from us. And look at the damage he’s caused!”

“No,” Buffy contradicted him. “He kept it from being much worse. What have you got?”

Joyce handed her the crystal. “He gave me this with the keys to his apartment. He said if I was ever in trouble to use this and it would bring him, no matter what. At the time I put the keys on my regular key ring and put this in my jewelry drawer. I hadn’t thought about it again until now.”

“How does it work?” Buffy turned it over in her hands.

“I don’t know. He just said it was for emergencies. I’m not in trouble, so maybe it won’t work.”

“You may not be, but he is.” Buffy looked to Rupert. “The direct approach?”

He nodded. “Should release what energy he’s stored in there and activate the spell.”

“Done.” And with a fierce blow, she smashed the cluster against the surface of the dining room table.

There was an actinic flash and a shockwave that pushed Joyce back, nearly deafening her.

When her vision cleared, Ethan was lying on the table.

He looked horrible, Joyce realized as the three of them rushed forward. The left side of his face had been pulped, and blood ran down his neck to saturate invisibly into the red of his shirt. With gentle hands, they drew him out of the fetal curl he held tightly, but still he sobbed out in pain. Joyce gently stroked what uninjured parts of his head she could find as Rupert and Buffy gave him a quick examination.

Buffy looked up at Rupert. “He’s got at least five broken ribs, three on the left and two on the right. I think a lot more are cracked. And his left arm is broken in three places.”

Rupert nodded, continuing his examination. “His left thigh is broken, as is the right calf. Both his knee caps are shattered and his right foot has been crushed.”

“You should see the other guy,” thick, almost unrecognizable words came from between Ethan’s swollen, bloody lips.

“Shh, don’t talk,” Joyce comforted him. “You’re safe now. You’re here with us.”

“Joyce?” He tried to open his eyes to see her and failed.

“I’m right here. It’s alright.”

“The bones we can set,” Buffy said critically, “but there’s got to be internal damage we can’t do anything about. Tara!” she called into the other room.

“What did this to him?” Joyce asked, never taking her hands off him.

“The First.”

“But how? It’s noncorporeal.”

“It’s still got minions. The girls ran into three of them in that tunnel, and I’m sure it didn’t send all it had.

“Oh, goddess!” Tara breathed as she came into the room.

“Can you stabilize him?” Buffy asked sharply.

Tara drew a deep breath and moved over to gently hold one of his shattered hands, quickly settling herself into trance to work what healing she could.

“The more pertinent question is why?” Rupert said, looking to Buffy for answers.

“Because it found out we’d been playing it. And it got pissed.”

 

 

Ethan paced alongside the First, manifest in its now commonplace image of the Slayer while they watched as the Bringers chiseled and jack hammered away at the granite holding the Slayer’s weapon encased. “It shouldn't be long now. Prophecies aren’t infallible, and didn’t take into consideration modern technology. We'll get it out.” But hopefully not too soon.

The First was obviously impatient. “I heard you, Ethan.”

He tried to sound conciliatory. “We're almost there.”

“Yes, that's true,” it acknowledged. “Go, rouse the Bringers. Get them back to work . . .”

There was a cry at the top of the stairs, and the sound of flesh on flesh before one of the eyeless minions came tumbling down the stairs. Ethan and the First both turned to see the true Slayer standing at the top of the steps, hands on her hips.

“Hey. Heard you got something of mine.” She descended the steps almost casually until she was face to face with him, glancing around curiously. “Where's it at? You know I'm gonna find it sooner or later.”

“Not likely, Slayer,” Ethan denied. Why was she here? Why wasn’t she with the others? She could prevent . . . “I lay one hand on you, and you're just a dead little girl.”

She grinned ferally. “Lay a hand on me...if you can.”

The first bolt of energy he threw at her fell short, the second missing her dodge by inches. She was dexterous, moving with a quickness and flexibility he hadn’t seen from her before. He threw a bolt of electricity where she had been standing, but of course she was already gone, racing over the barrels and along the wall to get behind him and knock him across the room. He rose to his feet again, a grin of satisfaction on his face that he hid quickly before attempting to catch her up in whips of flame. This time she darted away lightly to land atop one of the larger casks.

The maneuvers seemed to be fooling the First. It sat off to the side, watching with disdain on its doppelganged face. “Ethan, this is getting embarrassing.”

“It might be easier if you weren’t quite so distracting,” he protested.

“Will you concentrate?”

“Must you look like that? It’s more than a bit confusing.”

It sighed. “Fine. Go. Kill.” And it vanished.

Now that he wasn’t being watched quite so closely, he was a little more free to work. He lanced a blast at the Slayer that she easily anticipated and cartwheeled over. He dove for her, driving her towards the back of the room, but she leapt over him easily, running along the surface of the ceiling to avoid him. Another bolt of force missed her, knocking over a stack of wine barrels blocking the view to the underground chamber.

He knew the moment she saw it, because her eyes widened in recognition. He nodded imperceptibly before lunging at her again. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

She bypassed him easily, sliding across the floor on her belly before disappearing down the trapdoor and knocking it closed behind her.

It took him long moments to clear the barrels away and get the door open again so he could descend to where she was observing the halberd with a touch of wonder. It was meant for her, and he could see she heard its call. She turned to face him.

“So, you’ve found it,” he said with quiet threat. “What are you going to do now?”

She turned back to it, wrapped her hand around the haft and lifted it out of the rock with a crystalline chime.

He couldn’t help but grin. “It always comes back to the classics, doesn’t it?”

“It’s time?”

“It’s time,” he confirmed. “The others are in trouble. I thought you would be there, in that tunnel you found out about. You would have been quick enough to stop it, but they won’t be.”

“Stop what?”

“The bomb the First had me place there as a trap for you.”

“Oh my god.” Weapon tightly gripped in her hand, she dashed for the stairs.

“Ethan!” the First screeched from behind him. “Stop her! You mustn’t let her get away with the weapon! We need it to end the line!”

Without batting an eye, he stepped out of Buffy’s way.

She simply nodded and ran.

“Traitor!” The First transformed into its natural shape, reaching for him with ineffectual claws. “You have betrayed me!”

“Yes, so it would seem.”

“She won’t be able to save them.”

“That remains to be seen. And even so, she now has the weapon and you don’t. That can only work in her favor.” He could hear the Bringers gathering in the barrel room already, answering the First’s silent call.

“I’ll make you suffer for your duplicity, traitor.”

Ethan braced himself against the grip of the Bringers who seized him. “Do your worst. It’s nothing I didn’t expect.”

But the sound of claws scraping against the stone above made him break out in a cold sweat.

 

 

A note from Ethan was an unusual enough occurrence for Buffy to take notice. The fact that it had appeared in her room in the middle of the night and somehow had woken her from a sound sleep kind of made sure she’d notice.

The contents were simple.

_Slayer,_

_We have business. Come to 379 Howard Street, apartment C. Now._

_E.R._

She’d been tempted to crumple the note up and go back to sleep. But his use of her title and the word “business” had the hairs on the back of her neck rising in an all too familiar way. And besides, she had the feeling that if she ignored it, she’d be pelted with repeats a la Harry Potter until she showed. So she dragged herself out of bed, dressed in her best no-nonsense work clothes and slipped silently out of the house.

The address was on the other side of town, not far from downtown, so she just jogged, the exercise and cool late December air driving the last cobwebs out of her head. She was surprised for some reason when the address was in the founders section of town, one of the old Victorian houses built by the railroad tycoons and shipping magnates who helped start the town. The apartments on the upper level were accessed by a flight of stairs up the back of the house. The light was on. The door on the second floor was labeled B and C, so she pushed it open and went into the carpeted hall. C was halfway down on the right. She’d just raised her hand to knock when the door opened to reveal Ethan’s smug face. “Slayer. Welcome to my humble abode.”

There was nothing humble about this apartment, she realized as she stepped inside. The living room was very masculine without being shabby, a fire in the fireplace, books filling the shelf next to it, the walls hung with prints and a collection of masks that looked as though they could have come from Mom’s gallery. Probably they had, gifts she had given him over the years. She stopped in surprise to realize they had been together for over three years now. Most celebrity marriages didn’t last that long. And Buffy was surprised to acknowledge that over that time her own enmity for the man had resolved into simple irritation. But she wouldn’t let him know that. “This isn’t something that could have kept until a more civilized hour of the morning? Like noon?”

He closed the door, carefully sealing it before turning to look at her. “That all depends on how serious a threat you take the First Evil to be.”

She stopped. “Very.”

“Then sit down. We need to talk.”

Taking off her coat to drape over the back of the chair, she sat down primly, hands folded in her lap. “I’m listening.”

He paced around her, hands in his pockets, contemplating his shoes as he looked for the right words. “I was approached late Christmas night by my old friend Randall, who was looking remarkably well preserved for someone who has been dead for twenty-five years.”

“The First.”

He nodded. “Apparently the attack on the Watcher’s Council cost it as well as you. It had had a confederate, someone with a bit more ability at independent thought than the harbingers, doing some of its more delicate work. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t delicate enough, and was caught in his own detonation. It is now looking for someone to fill the vacancy.”

“And it came to you?”

He shrugged. “I’m the ideal candidate, aren’t I? Powerful, creative, self-serving . . .”

“Modest.”

“And with entrée into the Slayer’s inner circle.” He glared at her for her comment. “It’s made me an offer I should find very difficult to refuse.”

“Do you really think it’s smart to be telling me this?”

“I think that it’s the smartest thing I can do. For both of us.” He finally sat down on the couch opposite her. “I’m not a stupid man. I don’t care how much power the First offers me, I know there’s no place for me in the future it’s planning. And I have reasons for not wanting its vision to be realized.”

“Mom and Giles.”

“Among others.” He met her gaze steadily. “I also know that it’s not going to let me say no. I know too much. My only choices are to agree or die. So I propose agreeing.”

She jerked to her feet, furious. “Of course you do! Why does it not surprise me that you would choose saving your own skin over protecting the people you supposedly love?”

“Because you aren’t seeing that there’s a third option.” He rose to tower over her. “As you so wisely pointed out, if I’m turning coat, it’s hardly in my best interests to be telling you. But we don’t have to play by the rules, do we?”

She continued to glare at him.

He sighed. “You’ve been saying you need to get inside the First. Here’s your chance, being served up to you on a big silver platter. I’ll accept its bargain, and then do to it precisely what it plans to do to you.”

“Are you insane?” Her anger transformed into astonishment. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that would be?”

“Having seen the damage it was able to do to your vampire friend without ever laying a hand on him, yes, I have a fairly good idea. But Buffy,” he laid a hand on her crossed arms, “if I were on the inside, I could help get him out.”

The pain of Spike’s loss washed over her again, making tears stand out in her eyes. But she shook her head. “No. I don’t trade a life for a life.”

“Sweet child, you’re missing the point. My life is already forfeit. Let it at least serve a purpose.”

Buffy’s head was spinning. The possibilities were overwhelming, but the risks . . . “I don’t know. I . . . I have to talk to Giles about it.”

“No.” He gripped her arm, stopping her from leaving. “He can’t know of this. No one can. It would be too easy for someone to slip and give the game away. I’m fairly certain of not being heard here, under all my wards and shields, but it’s the only place that’s safe. When we leave here, it will have to be as though we’d never spoken.”

“You mean you aren’t going to tell him? Or Mom? God, Ethan! They’re going to think . . .”

“We’d best hope so. We’d better put on such a performance that the two people who know me best are certain I betrayed them.”

“But they love you! And you . . .”

“Want them to live. Please, Slayer, did you think we’d live out our days a happy little threesome? It was never meant to last. They just wouldn’t let me go. It’s lasted longer than it should have, this thing between us. Maybe for exactly this purpose. I don’t know. But you can’t throw this opportunity aside over sentimentality. Too many people depend on you.”

“I’m not going to leave you there when things get bad,” she insisted.

“Of course you will. You have to.” He seemed to relent in the face of her determination. “Fine. Your mother knows how to reach me if things get dire. I gave her a token to summon me if she needed help. Use that if you feel you must. But don’t. I can be more use there than with you.”

“How are you going to do it? Go to it, I mean?”

“Simple. By betraying you all.”

Her stomach knotted.

“It has to be done, Slayer. It has to be done, and it has to be horrible, and it has to be a victory for the First. Even you won’t see it coming. But when it does, I’ll be revealed to everyone and won’t be welcome in the house anymore. I’ll have to go to the First so I’ll be less of a threat to you. I’m going to have to give it reliable information, but I’ll be able to direct it in such a way that its blows are lessened. Do you understand?”

“I understand. You have to betray us for real for this to work.”

He nodded. “And then, when it does the worst possible damage to the First, I’ll betray it. You’ll have to be ready. I won’t be able to give you any warning.”

“Will you be able to give us anything?”

“I can try.” His expression looked doubtful. “If I’m able to get away, if there’s anything to tell, I’ll leave it on the damper of the fireplace here. This is the only safe place for a drop, and I won’t be able to do it often.”

“Ethan, I don’t know. It’s too dangerous. . . “

His soft eyes were sad but resigned. “Buffy, I’m dead already. Let me do this for them.”

She found she couldn’t deny him.

Stretching up on her toes, she kissed his cheek gently. “Just be careful.”

“Take care of them for me.”

“I will.”

The tears started when she reached the bottom of the stairs.

 

 

Joyce sat quietly on her bed next to Ethan’s unconscious form, stroking his hair lightly. He probably wouldn’t appreciate it, but she was praying so hard for him it hurt. He had passed out while Buffy and Rupert reset his bones, all twenty-three of them. They had tightly wrapped his crushed foot and realigned the dislocated fingers in his hand, and Tara had spent long hours working her subtle healing magic on him. Then all that was left was waiting.

Night had descended, leaving the house in unchecked darkness. She had several candles lit on the bedside table in cruel parody of the many blissful nights they had shared her bed. When she though of everything he had sacrificed, everything he had risked, remembered the way they had treated him . . .

“Faith’s awake,” Buffy’s voice came quietly from the doorway. “She’s still pretty weak, but I think she’s going to be okay. How is he?”

Joyce didn’t look up, still gently trailing her fingers through his hair. “No change yet.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I couldn’t. He was right . . .”

“It’s okay, baby. I understand. I just . . .” She trailed off, tears standing in her eyes.

They were quiet for a long time, listening to his shallow breathing. Finally Buffy spoke. “I have to go out. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She turned to leave, but Joyce stopped her. “Buffy. Thank you. I know you and he never really got along. Thank you for taking care of him.”

Buffy’s serious expression didn’t change. “He’s part of the family.” Then she turned and was gone

She turned back to him, maintaining her gentle contact. “You didn’t have to get killed to get her to like you.”

“Sometimes Buffy responds best to dramatic gestures.” Rupert now stood in the doorway. He came in and moved to stand at the foot of the bed. “Has he shown any sign of improvement?”

She shook her head. “When I think what must have caused this . . . He shouldn’t have been there, Rupert.”

“He knew what he was doing. We’re fortunate it came to him. He’s the only one cold-blooded enough to have pulled this off.”

“I just . . . I can’t help but think that it’s our fault he did this. He always felt like an outsider in this, like you and I were the couple and he was just extra. Did he do this because he didn’t think we’d care? That we wouldn’t miss him?”

Rupert came around the bed to sit next to her, not interfering with her gentle attention to Ethan. “I think it may be the opposite. He wanted to protect us and knew we’d have each other for support when he was gone. It’s the first truly selfless act I’ve ever seen him perform. I think our boy has managed to be redeemed in spite of himself.”

“I’ve still got three years on you, Ripper,” the words came thick and slow from between swollen lips. “So watch who you’re calling boy.”

Joyce snapped her head around at the sound of his voice. He couldn’t have opened his eyes even if he’d wanted to, but the barest whisper of a smile curved his devastated mouth. “Ethan! Oh thank god, I was so worried when you didn’t wake up. No, don’t try to move,” she stopped him as he tried to struggle to sit up. “You’re still hurt too badly to be moving around.”

Rupert laid a comforting hand gently on Ethan’s less damaged arm. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit like death warmed over, frankly. Which is better than the dead I expected to feel. Why aren’t I?”

“Because Buffy wasn’t going to let you die for our sakes.”

“Of course not. She couldn’t let me have my noble gesture.”

Joyce smiled. “It’s not very noble if you planned it.”

“Spotted that, did you?” He lapsed into tired silence. Finally he asked hoarsely, “All safe?”

“For the most part,” Rupert replied. “The girls were hit hard, but Buffy was able to save them from the worst of it. You’re a hero, old man.”

“I feel as though someone tried to pin the medal over every inch of me.”

“Do you need anything?” Joyce asked solicitously.

“Some water.”

Rupert rose. “I’ll get it. We also have some painkillers Anya and Andrew got from the hospital. It should help alleviate the worst of your suffering.”

“Thank you.”

When he was gone, Joyce went back to gently caressing Ethan’s head, this time with a little more intent, wanting him to feel her since he couldn’t see her. She was surprised when he spoke again.

“So all is forgiven, just like that?”

She nodded. “Um-hmm. Pretty much.”

“The next time I do it, it will most likely be for real, you know.”

“But there won’t be a next time.”

“You sound certain of that.”

“I am.”

“Joyce, I . . .”

“Shh.” She kissed him softly, as close to his mouth as she could get without hurting him. “I love you. You’re safe. Worry about the rest when you’re better.”

With a soft sigh, the tension flowed out of him, and he relaxed against her body. She just held him, content to stay like that through all that long night.


End file.
